Elegy
by Aredhel Olivaw
Summary: It was so sad that only Death could bring them together again. Thrawn/Maris
1. The Red Flame

**Hello. o/**

My first attempt at Star Wars and with a couple that was not a couple, but should have been a couple: Thrawn & Maris Ferasi.

There will be two chapters, one focusing on Maris and another on Thrawn. Since English is not my mother language, I apologize for the many mistakes you will find here. I can only hope they won't ruin everything. :)

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, Star Wars doesn't belong to me.

 **Song:** Solitary Ground

 **Band:** Epica

* * *

 **Notes:** Some information come from Wookieepedia, others from Outbound Flight and the Thrawn Trilogy and so many others are pure creative liberty.

* * *

 **Subtitles:**

-"Blah blah": dialogues

 _-Blá blá: flashbacks_

 _-"Blah blah": thoughts_

 **-Blah blah:** intonations

* * *

 _ **Elegy**_

 _ **noun**_ , plural **elegies.**

1.

a mournful, melancholy, or plaintive poem, especially a funeral song ora lament for the dead.

2.

a poem written in elegiac meter.

3.

a sad or mournful musical composition.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - The Red Flame**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Living at different places**

 **Evading into various spaces**

 **My compass has broken**

 **I'm losing the way**

 **An ongoing madness has led me astray**

Upon entering her X-Wing, she already knew this would be her last battle. The feeling was not based on anything concrete, but only on a vague and suffocating sensation that became true. She saw, in the black space, allied fighters exploding, and many enemy fighters sharing the same fate. No one went into war expecting anything less.

Even so, the woman would give all of herself in that battle. Although victory was highly improbable. For that precision in the attack, that impeccable coordination...No, it was not worth thinking about it now. All that mattered was the battle.

Her last vision was not that of the final and precise shot; but the little fragment of a sculpture she had brought along. It was just one piece of a larger object that had been left behind in Derra IV. A beautiful, enigmatic, red object.

An object just like **his** eyes.

* * *

 **My past breaths down my neck**

 **And it seems now that all I can do is**

 **Go back to beginnings when all lay ahead**

 **The fading illusion now plagues me instead**

 _Maris Ferasi's eyes wandered over the few objects displayed in the rooms of Commander Mitth_ ' _raw'nuruodo. Apparently, his taste for art didn't include areas such as interior design. Which was to be expected, of course. The room was simple and functional. A bed (where she is laying on her side), a small bookcase, a closet, and a table with two chairs (he was sitting in one of those)._

 _Various objects were displayed on the shelves. They probably belonged to many of the species that lived in the Unknown Regions and which varied in color, shape and size. However, the human couldn't help noticing how often red - and its variants - appeared in the room._

 _Red._

 _She has always liked that color. There was something powerful and attractive about it; qualities shared by the man she was watching. Thrawn was at the table, reading some report and extremely focused on his task. He had removed the top of his uniform off, leaving only a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows._

 _The young woman's eyes rose from the blue of his skin, passed by the black cloth, took their time in admiring the broad shoulders and went down the unbuttoned shirt until she saw a little more of the exposed skin of her host, and there her eyes lingered a little more. They eyes went back up again and travelled to his arms until they reached his hands. Those strong, determined hands._

 _"Your sudden attention is greatly appreciated, Ferasi", Maris was so absorbed that she didn't realize that her companion had seen her wandering eyes. "But I had assumed the objects in the room would be more interesting."_

 _She laughs, embarrassed by being caught on the act._

 _"And they were for a while," she says. "But I got tired of looking at them, and since my host is neglecting me...", she sees him raise one eyebrow, "I had to find something else to do."_

 _"An unacceptable behavior on your host's part."_

 _"I agree. Especially when his guest has brought something", Maris rises up from bed, goes to her coat and takes out a small bag from inside one of the inner pockets. Then she sits on the commander's lap. "From my home planet."_

 _"K'rell'n." He says as he picks up the present._

 _"Corellia, Thrawn. These are firegems."_

 _He takes gazes at the little reddish objects in his hands, and she waits patiently for the Chiss to finish his analysis, for she knows well the cathartic effect that observing art has on him._

 _"Thank you, Maris. However, I do not know how to reciprocate." He did not look at woman as he thanked her, but buried his face in her neck and gave her a brief kiss that sent shivers down the smuggler's spine._

 _Her hands caress his blue-black hair._

 _"You don't have to, but you can reduce your debt by answering one question."_

 _"At your service." He smiles discreetly._

 _"Why do you like red so much?" She asks and points to the art pieces in his room._

 _"They serve as a constant reminder of an ideal." Thrawn places the statuettes on the table, then moves his hands to the smugglers' waist, bringing her closer. "The Red Flame."_

 _"What is it about?"_

 _"Perfection," the chosen word confuses the young woman even more. "The Red Flame embodies all that is expected from every child of Csilla: cunning, courage, discipline and state of preparedness."_

 _The commander sees his companion tilting her head a little to the side, in deep contemplation. It does not take long for her to present an adorable little trait that he had noticed during their language lessons and other moments in each other's company. Maris Ferasi always bit her lower lip when she was pondering or something lost herself in thoughts._

 _The alien seriously considered replacing those teeth biting her lip with his own when the human laughed. His frown was almost imperceptible._

 _"It's nothing," Maris says. "I just found it curious that you use such a word to describe this ideal," her hands travel through his hair. "Flame." Another pause. "It's just that almost all these attributes give me an idea of control, calm. All that fire is not."_

 _"And what is the fire to you?"_

 _She answers with a deep, searing kiss._

" _The opposite."_

 **In me**

 **There's still a place that**

 **Fulfils me**

 **A sanctity here that I call home**

 **I run to**

 **When winter descends**

 **If I try, can I find solid ground?**

* * *

 **I follow elusive paths, oh!**

 **It seems they have been written in stone and the**

 **Door to a new life is closing so fast**

 **Burning the bridges will not bring me back**

Those times at the Crustai base would mark her forever. And not just because of him. The return to the "real world", to the Republic, was more shocking than she thought it would be. Not so much because of Qennto's chronic bad temper and rudeness, she did not allow herself to be impressed by that. It would not be worth it. But because of later events.

The debt to Drixo was paid and she pursued her noble and transgressive smuggling business for a few more years. Very few. The trips, the risks, and even the prospect of causing some damage to the Government's finances did not satisfy her as it did once. An uneasiness was born within Maris and it did not long for her to realize that the emptiness would not be filled by a deviant career. She, Maris Ferasi, second-in-command at the _Bargain Hunter_ , needed something more. It was an elementary thing, but one that had moved different generations at different moments in History: an ideal.

She says goodbye to Dubrak Qennto and to smuggling life. No regrets, no hurt (on her part) and no politeness (on his part). What to do next? What skills did she have? Several. Good notions of mechanics, navigation, languages ...but... how could she use all that? Or part of that?

Since she had no idea, she chose to use the acquired (and beautifully scrounged from the Public Treasury) fortune to take a gap year and get off the radars. She traveled to Naboo, Coruscant (and to the magnificent Skydome Botanical Garden), Corulag. Those had been beautiful months of freedom, fun and flirtations until, two years later, everything changed.

The Clone Wars begun and the galaxy plunged into chaos. An inert Senate, bloodthirsty Separatists, civil wars, Corellia choosing isolation. It was during such pandemonium that she found the place to apply her skills: relief missions traveling through the conflict zones and trying to alleviate the suffering of millions caught in the crossfire. Those had been years of crossing the Galaxy and seeing the worse andthe best in living beings. Species and more species striving daily for survival or extermination.

Suddenly, it was all over.

The Clone Wars.

The Jedi Order.

The Republic.

From the debris of the known world was born an aberrant mutation, a cursed chimera. The Galactic Empire. Ruled by the beloved chancellor Palpatine. Correction: Emperor Palpatine. Maris was on a mission on Ryloth when she watched, stupefied, with many individuals of many species, that fateful statement in the Senate.

"Galactic Empire ... " It was as if her mind had gone off the air "... secure society."

She excused herself and looked for some place where she could be left alone. On that starry night, on a distant planet, she cried. Like she had not cried in years. Maris Ferasi knew herself well enough to know the nature of that terrible pain. It was the deepest disappointment. That heartbreak that only a sincere idealist would have. Yes, the Republic was corrupt, and no one could dispute that. But it was worth fighting for, and that she did. For years. Until what had begun as an isolated dissent became an alliance. The Rebel Alliance.

The former smuggler served the Alliance in many ways over the years. Recruiting members, spying, collecting information (Thank the Force for her transgressive years), taking care of logistics.

The name Maris Ferasi practically disappeared from records, being replaced by the codename "Red Flame", that made sense only to her. In the middle of one of her missions, the past came knocking on her door. In the form of an old and dear friend.

 **In me**

 **There's still a place that**

 **Fulfils me**

 **A sanctity here that I call home**

 **I run to**

 **When winter descends**

 **If I try, can I find solid ground?**

* * *

 **In me**

 **There's still a place that**

 **Fulfils me**

 **A sanctity here that I call home**

 **I run to**

 **When winter descends**

 **If I try, can I find solid ground?**

 _Her encounter with Jorj Car'das only lasted a day and took place on indistinct motel in Chandrilla. When he knocked on her door, with a tired smile on his face and bottles of strong beer in one hand, there was no way she could not think on how time had not been merciful to her friend._ _His brown skin was dry and wrinkled, his hair was much grayer than age would allow, and his brown eyes looked haunted. As if he had been in the presence of an indescribable horror._

 _As curious as she was, Maris would not invade her friend's privacy, especially when she herself had more skeletons in the closet than she wanted and could count. The conversation had been long and enjoyable for the most part. With sips of beer and laughter._

 _"You can imagine the chaos on that mission," the woman was recounting an anecdotal episode that had taken place a few months before and that had the other former smuggler roaring with laughter._

 _"Their luck is that you were always very good at dealing with pressure," Jorj said, but his eyes became suddenly serious as he stared at the half-closed window. "Our times in the Bargain Hunter proved that." Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds. "Maris, do you still think about our mission in the Unknown Regions?"_

 _"Every day, and for a few minutes," the woman goes to the window and gazes into the dark sky. "Almost like a bad habit. And you?_

 _"The same." His tone was faintly dismissive._

 _"Jorj, you were never the best of liars, and that question did not come out of nowhere." Maris asked. "What happened?"_

 _"I saw_ _ **our friend**_ _a while ago."_

 _Thank the Force Maris did not have her beer at the time, or the poor object would have fallen to the ground and caused a monumental mess. She leans on the window sill, incapable of speaking, and her thoughts fly light-years away and toward the friend in question._

 _"I can't believe you have been to Crustai!" She beams. "When was it? What was it like? Why did you go there?"_

 _Car'das laughs._

 _"Cool you hyperdrive, Maris! One thing at a time!" His hands up in a sign of surrender before the hail of questions._

 _"How is Commander Mitth'rawnuruodo? Is he an admiral now? Has he changed his black uniform for the white one?" Her friend's request clearly had no effect whatsoever, and Maris did not notice her friend getting closer. "What about his brother?"_

 _He takes her hands and makes the euphoria slow down a bit. Both remain silent. She confused, he uncomfortable._

 _"I'm sorry about that, Maris. I shouldn't have said anything."_

 _"Why not?_

 _"Let's sit on your bed, please." They do just that. Maris leans against the headboard and Jorj at the other end. "I will answer as much as I can, but you may not like it."_

" _Thanks for the warning." Her attempt of humor fails miserably._

 _"I haven't been to Crustai. I helped our friend on a mission that had nothing to do with the Chiss."_ _He gets up and picks up two beers, without even bothering about glasses._ _"What the hell were you thinking?" Car'das silently berates himself._

 _Back on his place, the man resumes his speech. "He is very well. He's no longer a commander and I believe the white uniform is his destiny. But not in the way you think."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I assisted **Captain** Thrawn," he sees her frowning. "and it should not be long before he receives the white uniform...of the Grand Admirals of the Empire."_

 _The woman places the beer bottle on the nightstand and brings her hands to her face in complete shock._

 _"I'm so sorry, Maris." He knew the news would hit her hard._

 _"Captain Thrawn ..." the rebel whispers. "How did this happen?"_

 _Car'das narrates the events after their departure from the Chiss Ascendancy. The death of Thrass and the sad fate of Outbound Flight, Thrawn's successive preemptive strikes that led him into exile. His entry into the ranks of the Galactic Empire. At every moment, Maris grew more devastated and Jorj more regretful._ _But there was no easy way ro do this. Maris needed to know about the powerful enemy she could find. It hurt him deeply to see his friends on opposite sides and he prayed that the Force would be graceful enough to never allow them to cross paths again. For there would be nothing left of that mutual allure that Jorj never really understood._

" _What do I do, Jorj?"_

 _"About what?"_

 _"About Thrawn. I must warn the Alliance about him."_ _She takes a sip of beer and regains some of the composure she came very close to losing. Her mind tries to conjure an image of the Thrawn wearing the Empire's nefarious uniform, but it was impossible. As far as she was concerned, his colors would always be blue, red, and black. "They need to know the risks."_

" _Maybe not." The man says. "At least, not for now. He doesn't work much on this side of the galaxy"_

" _Does he know about me?" She hoped that was not the case._

 _"No, but he has asked about you. I omitted as much as possible._ I _told him you worked with logistics and traveled a lot."_

" _Not far from the truth…"_

 _"He wanted to know if you and Qennto were still working together." Jorj sees a curious smile spring to her lips. "I said no, that you two had gone separate ways a long time ago."_

 _"More than you know."_

 _"Maris," curiosity was eating him alive. "Qennto was insanely jealous of Thrawn. Sorry to ask, but…"_

 _"You wanna know if he was right ?" Interrupts the woman._

" _Well…yes."_

" _Yes and no." So very informative. "Yes, because Thrawn was much more than a friend. And no, because Rak and I were no longer together, despite his hopes on that."_

 _"So, I wasn't wrong". He says to himself. "How was that even possible?"_

 _"There's no explanation for these things, Jorj."_

 **In me**

 **There's still a place that**

 **Fulfils me**

 **A sanctity here that I call home**

 **I run to**

 **When winter descends**

 **If I try, can I find solid ground?**

* * *

And she did not explain at all. It was none of his business,anyway. The encounter with Jorj in Chandrilla was the last time Maris talked about Chiss to anyone, since she preferred to keep her time in Crustai - and him - as her secret garden. That place where she hid whenever life in war became too heavy.

The years passed, the fights became worse and Derra IV happened. Shortly before the battle, her usual helmet had its shield broken and she left it at the base, next to her few belongings, that would be found shortly after.

 **Or am I just wasting time?**

 **Wasting time ...**

 **(To be continued)**


	2. The Warlord

**tHello. o/**

Here is the last chapter.

It was difficult, but great to be able to put this story on paper. ^-^

I apoligize again for any grammar mistakes you find here. :P

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, Star Wars doesn't belong to me.

 **Song:** Black

 **Band:** Pearl Jam

* * *

 **Note:** The talks you will see in this chapter were inspired by an episode of The Blacklist, where one of the main characters has an interesting interaction with someone from the past. :)

* * *

 **Subtitles:**

"Blah blah": dialogues

 _Blah blah: flashbacks_

 **Blah blah: intonations**

 _"Blah blah": Thoughts_

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - The Warlord**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Sheets of empty canvas**

 **Untouched sheets of clay**

 **Were laid out before me as her body once did**

 **All five horizons revolved around her soul**

 **As the earth to the sun**

 **Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken the turn**

The Empire.

Thrawn was not blind to the simple truth. The Empire was not even close to that utopia represented in official propaganda. No government was or could be; particularly one composed of several different species, and whose natures ranged from the most friendly to the one capable of the greatest of horrors. There was no simple solution in this case. It was imperative that a strong hand held the reins and a greater voice was heard over the others. The Empire was quite efficient in doing that, and he saw no reason to doubt his actions. Until a certain episode.

The Battle of Derra IV.

An eternal mark on his existence.

Not so much for the victory over the rebels or for the lack of credit coming from it. To be honest, he couldn't care less about it. That the laurels of victory were given Lord Vader; discretion served Thrawn far better. The major issue about that battle was the pain. One almost as intense as the one he had felt for Thrass's loss.

 **Oh, and all I taught her was everything**

 **Oh, I know she gave me all that she wore**

 **And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds**

 **Of what was everything**

* * *

 **Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black,**

 **Tattooed everything**

 _Around him, only silence and contemplation. Remnants of what had been a Rebel base at Derra IV were brought to him in boxes and distributed along the room. Equipment, weapons, random and personal objects left behind. Fragments of lives. Memories. Mementos. Alone in his cabin, seated in his armchair, Grand Admiral Thrawn gazed at two objects in particular._

 _A helmet and a small object. A statuette. Found in one of the main lodgings (probably a leader's). Under any other circumstance, he would pay no attention to those objects except for what he could deduce from them._

 _Written in the helmet was the codename of the one who, once, had been the owner. Any Imperial agent that looked at those letters would not be able to understand their meaning. None. No one but him._

 _The words were Red Flame._

 _Written in Cheunh._

 _Almost like an inner joke._

 _Being a son of Csilla, cold did not bother him. At least not in the climatic meaning. For the cold that he felt now was within and similar to being in hell. An agony greater than the solitude of exile._

 _Thrawn had spent years ignoring the evidence. Jorj Car'das had done his best to keep it from him, but there was no way his intellect could not piece things together._ _Maris Ferasi had been a rebel._ _A rebel who had died in Derra IV. A rebel whose death laid now in his hands. Hands that he now touched his face._

 _"Kriff ..." He said to no one, and for hours, the Chiss remained seated in his chair. Until he fell asleep._

 _As a punishment, in dreams, she comes to him. Like she had come so many times, back in Crustai. Brown curls cascading down her shoulders, the rebel uniform polluting the picture, and a serene expression on her face. The eyes staring at him had that dreamy expression that had charmed him when they met._

 _"Ferasi." He says._

 _"Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo," replies Maris-that-wasn't Maris. "It's been so long!"_

 _"Grand Admiral Thrawn, Ferasi." He corrects her. "Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo doesn't exist anymore."_

 _"That's unfortunate," she stands before him. "I was very fond of the commander."_

 _"Let me express my preference for the smuggler."_

 _Maris smiles._

 _"Why, Maris?"_

 _"Why what?"_

 _"Such a choice?" He explains. "Why did you walk straight into the arms of death?"_

 _"For the same reason you fight, Thrawn," her youthful stance disappears and is replaced by a heavy melancholy "For something greater."_

 _"Do you really think the Alliance's childish delirium is more effective than the Empire?" The Grand Admiral asks. "Allow me to say that I do not see the merits of that."_

 _"What would be the point on arguing about it? Choices have already been made and my destiny has been sealed." A pregnant pause. "But I fear for yours."_

 _"And why is that?"_

 _"Because the one I have loved would have never fallen that much."_

 _"The one you have loved was not real." Even to his ears that sounded cruel. "Your pathological idealism created him."_

 _"You do realize that your words only reinforce my point?" The human asks. "But it doesn't matter, does it?"_

 _The silence between them was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was like an echo of the many moments they had shared in youth. Only the two of them, away from everything and everyone._

 _"I am very sorry, Maris."_

 _"Don't be," she caresses his face and a mischievous smile adorns her lips. "Did you like my helmet?"_

 _The dream suddenly shifts. They are now at the base of Derra IV, known to him thanks to holograms. The Oneiric Maris tours among the non-existent objects and fighters, and he just follows her._

 _"I found it ironic." Thrawn remembered her opinion of the words in question. "Did you embrace the Flame ideal?"_

 _"It's helped me a lot over the years," she says. "But it was funny how no one ever understood what that meant."_

 _"Because you never wanted anyone to understand."_

 _"No one but you," she says and winks._

 _He awakens, against his deepest desires; for the prospect of awakening in a universe where she no longer existed seemed truly terrible._

 _That dream was only the first of many he had in the months after Maris' death. He mourned her in silence, like almost all of his actions. Even without seeing her in dreams, Thrawn sensed her presence with him. As he had always felt. Since they had said goodbye decades ago._

 **I take a walk outside**

 **I'm surrounded by some kids at play**

 **I can feel their laughter,**

 **So, why do I sear?**

* * *

 **Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head**

 **I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning**

 **How quick the sun can, drop away**

The years go by. The Battle of Endor. The Emperor's death.

The victory of the Alliance, while surprising, was not difficult to understand. Only the Emperor's personal power managed to keep the structures in place, and without him, chaos was established in what remained of the Empire. His reconstruction work would be long and rather tiring, Thrawn knew, but there was no one else who could do it. That was the reason behind his unceasing work in the Unknown Regions.

It would be no use trying to fight the Rebels and strengthen their base in Nirauan simultaneously. It would just be a waste of time and resources. Therefore, Grand Admiral remained anonymous and away from the inconvenient eyes of his enemies. Always thinking and planning.

He was well aware that his subordinates in the _Chimera_ wondered why their leader spent so much time locked in his quarters; but they were all reasonable enough to keep their musings and gossips to themselves. To be honest, those moments in solitude were a balm. A momentary relief from everything that weighed on his shoulders.

The Chiss gazes at the statues of fire he always kept in his cabin. One was hers, found in Derra IV. The other was given to him by Maris and he kept with himself during the exile. In fact, for countless times, when he felt himself tempted to go mad, Thrawn touched the object and mentally fled back to those moments shared with Ferasi.

 **And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass**

 **Of what was everything**

* * *

 **Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black,**

 **Tattooed everything**

 **All the love gone bad**

 _The cabin in the Chimera was mostly dark, and he was, as usual, sat in his chair. A mug full of caf lay nearby. Its scent brought some comfort to the gloomy surroundings, illuminated only by holograms of Corellian firegems._

 _Corellia. A planet that had been occupying part of his thoughts recently._

 _Birthplace of one of his current enemies (Han Solo), of a possible opponent (Garm Bel Iblis) and of his second-in-command (Captain Gilad Pellaeon). However, he was aware that Corellia had never truly left his thoughts. Since his great friend (Jorj Car'das) and his great love were also born there._

 _Yes._

 _Now, years after her death, Thrawn finally allowed himself to name the feeling that bound him to Maris. Even if he was only going to do it to himself and in the absolute privacy of his thoughts. Red eyes abandon the analysis of the art and go to the mug, admiring the deep blackness of its content. As deep as her eyes._

 _"And to think you hated caf the first time you drank it."_

 _One of the alleged and notorious signs of madness was hearing voices. Particularly the voice of someone he knew to be dead. Dead for years. And, as if in confirmation of his diagnosis, she (or the illusion his inconvenient mind insisted on projecting) stood next to him, leaning one of her elbows on the back of the chair, in that careless gesture he had seen her do so often ._

 _"An acquired taste." Another sip. "What are you doing here, Ferasi?"_

 _He finally looks at her. The smirk was there, in that young, impossible face._

 _"Just visiting," she begins to stroll among the holografic images. "How have you been?"_

 _"Going mad, apparently." The Grand Admiral replies._

 _Maybe his condition was worse than he'd imagined. For there was Maris, dead, wearing a red dress (and why red? Or why a dress? He had never seen her wearing a dress). Thrawn knew it could not be a "splash" of Joruus C'baoth's clonic madness, for the ysalamiri were alive and well aboard the ship._

 _"You're far to brilliant to go crazy," she says. "But some would say madness and geniality are two sides of the same coin."_

 _"I have a mission to fulfill, Maris." She paid no attention to him, just wandered, light and ethereal, along the room. "And your presence does not help me."_

 _"Oh, yes. Solving the only puzzle that is worth it."_

 _"Yes, destroying the Rebellion,"_

 _"I've heard the name is New Republic." She deadpans, but the gleam in her eyes indicated great satisfaction. "Sounds pretty."_

 _"Sounds pretentious and nothing more," he replies. "And how have you heard about it?"_

 _"The dead know a lot. Besides, that name, New Republic, sounds like something I would have given my life for."_

 _"A low blow, Maris." He drinks more caf. "This attempt of yours in making me feel guilty."_

 _She walks back to him and sits in his lap, like she used to do on those furtive moments in Crustai. For a few seconds, Maris just gazes at him, with that striking trait of hers while alive: tilting her neck slightly to the side and biting her lip._

 _"I don't blame you, Thrawn," she says. "I made my choice and I don't regret it."_

 _"Of course you do not regret it. You do not even exist."_

 _"I'll exist as long as you exist." She rises up from his lap, and to his shame, Thrawn notices the void the false weight of her body left. "But I can leave."_

" _And what is preventing you from doing so?"_

" _Isn't it obvious?" Her laughter was musical. "Because you don't want me to."_

 _No, not really._

 _"I never wanted you to leave." His voice comes out almost like a whisper. "I did not want it back then, and I do not want it now."_

 _"And nor will I ever want it." She smiles, as if she had read his mind, but keeps walking around his cabin._

 _Serene, carefree and so attuned to the memories he had that Thrawn could almost believe that Maris Ferasi was really there with him. On board the Chimera, as she had been at Crustai and at the Springhawk. Alive. Close._ _Again, that sharp pain inside. And all because his brain could not give up this delirium. This compulsive need of keeping Maris' memory alive, to keep her with him somehow. Not even his contempt for the ideal for which she had given her life prevented him from doing so._

 _In such a situation, it was impossible not to think of the many times he had allowed the word "if" to dominate his thoughts when it came to her. What if he had asked her to stay with him in Crustai? What if they had had a couple of years together? And what if..._

 _"It wouldn't have worked, Thrawn," she says and it becomes clear to the chiss how intimate she was to his thoughts. Which was obvious, considering that figure to be a projection of his mind. "What kind of life would we have? You had your mission, I had mine."_

 _"Indeed," he concludes. "But I do not think you would have gotten involved with the Rebellion if-"_

 _"If we had shared a life?" Maris walks back to him and puts herself on his lap again. "Do you really think I would have followed you? Do you really believe I would have accepted the Empire?" Her unreal hands run through his hair. "No, dearest. I would have joined the Alliance anyway, it would just have taken a little longer."_

" _I seriously doubt it."_

" _And why is that?" She asks. "Because of your ability to anticipate the enemy?" Her voice takes on an incisive tone. "Be careful, Thrawn. Your geniality has limits. And we all have a blind spot" Silence hangs in the air. "And I fear for the moment when you realize yours."_

 **Turned my world to black**

 **Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all that I'll be, yeah**

* * *

 **I know someday you'll have a beautiful life**

 **I know you'll be a star**

 **In somebody else's sky,**

 **But why? Why? Why?**

 **Can't it be? Can't it be in mine?**

Maris's prophetic words became real in that last battle against the Rebellion.

In Bilbringi.

When victory was within his grasp, but the blind spot the woman had mentioned became evident. As evident as the knife that pierced his chest. In those moments before death, when time loses meaning and nothing else matters. She appeared again.

Beautiful. Solemn. As the chaos spread through the _Chimera_ and all his work collapsed. The illusory Maris knelt before him. Peripherally he hears what would be voices. But it did not matter anymore.

"Are you here to gloat, Ferasi?" He knew it was not her nature.

"No".

"Then why are you here?"

A melancholic smile appears on her lips.

"For a genius, you can be quite foolish. Is it that hard to understand? I only show up when you call for me, Thrawn."

Yes, that made sense. He called for her in exile, and she came in memories. He mourned for her, and she came visited his dreams. He thought of Corellia and all that that planet represented, and Maris came to him. Now, in the last moments, and even without realizing it, Thrawn had called for her again.

"I warned you about the blind spot, dearest." She says. "And it was so obvious."

"Indeed," he agrees. "I should have paid more attention to the Noghri."

"You should have set them free, but your theater of war needed them."

"Theater of war, Maris?" If he could, he would have laughed at the comment.

"Yes, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. A theater." She rests one hand over the red that gushes out of his white uniform. "Intense, precise, and visceral; but still a theater. And, like every show, it must come to an end."

"But it was so artistically done"

The smile disappeared. The glint in the red eyes faded ... and Thrawn, the Grand Admiral, was gone.

 **We, we, we, we, together! Together**

 _(Our place is with one another! Together.)_

 ** _[END]_**


End file.
